Jagged Blade
by InsaneKAT
Summary: Heartbreak. Tragedy. Ecstasy. Failure. Success. Horror and fear. His faithful blade, Riptide, has saw him through all that. Luke/Annabeth, Percy/Annabeth. Rated T for character death and slight themes.


**AN. **I have always found that in every modern book, there is a flaw. The questions in Percy Jackson are of the following: Why weren't there any _adult _half-bloods to help them? Is it possible to have a relationship between two half-bloods? What would the result be? If all those half blood pairings are 'allowed', why did they only appear after Percy arrived? Or were they not mentioned? In the battle against the Titans, Morpheus put everyone in Manhattan to sleep except for the half-bloods, but what about the unclaimed ones wandering the streets? Kronos stamped a hole in the middle of Olympus so that Ethan could fall through it, so why not do it to Percy and be done with him?

This story is a (failed) attempt of explaining some of these things, because I just _can't_ let these questions just hang around for eternity. I tried pointing them out to people, but they all just go 'oh, cool' and go on with their own business. It just irks me to no end.

Speaking of irk, one of my friends had because a fan of God. I mean, not the gods of Olympus, but the Christian God, father of Jesus and such. While she has became a Jesus-fanatic, I've became a Fan- fic-atic. Fanatic, Fanficnatic, get it? (Grins lame attempt of Cheshire grin)

**Title: **It's pretty creative, if I may say so myself.

**Timeline/setting: **This is a complete renewed version of PJO's timeline. Riptide is actually a practice blade from Camp, and is not as grand. Percy himself didn't go to any quests, Kronos did not possess Luke, and the Titans took over in the end. Also, the Great Prophecy is scrapped, because I need Luke, Annabeth, and Percy above the age of 18.

**Point of View: **Altering between Percy and Annabeth, though mostly Percy. The books were neglecting her a little too much.

**Mistakes: **The Fanfiction has no real intended plot in it, but just scans through the relationship between Percy, Annabeth, and Luke. I also apologize for the lack of other characters, but it is hard to fit them in when Percy's 'point of view' of the world is focused solely on his emotions, Annabeth, and his blade. I also noticed that I made Annabeth call him 'Shrimp', since I figured it's a more serious insult than 'Seaweed Brain', because 'Seaweed Brain' sounds more affectionate than 'Shrimp'.

**Language/rating: **I noticed that this story seems to have sometime like a K+ language content but a T-rated plot.

If there is anything else wrong, feel free to tell me, since I _am _blessed with a _slight _case of ADHD and I never seem to read straight. Flames would be used to roast marshmallows over with everyone in camp. Speaking of marshmallows, burnt ones taste like heaven on Earth, with the exception of knowing the fact that it's probably _really _bad for my health.

**Beta: **Beta'd by my dear friend Icy.

**Edited: **Edited on October 12th. Shortened AN and spelling check.

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the characters of Percy Jackson and the Olympians. All belongs to Rick Riordan apart from the plot.

**JAGGED BLADE**

A green-eyed teen weighed the sword in his hands experimentally. It was unbalanced – like all the other training swords are. The hilt had red rust dotted across the metal, and the blade was chipped and uneven, like the blade of a saw, telling the many untold stories of battles and skirmishes it has lived through. He turned it towards the setting sun, and the handguard flashed.

Percy concluded that the camp was not as well-stocked as he imagined. Earlier that day, he had been in the archery range, and the practice bow he held snapped in half at his mere touch. Of course, he was the one who was laughed at in the end, not the bow. The new kid always takes the blame.

Tossing the sword from one hand to another, he scowled in irritation. The leather grip was well-worn and dull, which seemed to dampen his spirits even more.

"Hey!" He shouted towards the only other person in the otherwise empty arena. "Are there any, like, _better quality _swords in camp?"

The other person, a blond-haired girl, did not turn, but replied, "Go make your own if you're unsatisfied. Or get on the good side of the Hephaestus Cabin." And then she was silent, polishing her dagger with a rag.

Percy frowned. Why are these people so unfriendly? "Hey! That's not nice!"

"I never said I am." She retorted coolly.

He stalked over indignantly. "Hey!"

She finally looked up at him from her polishing, and for a second, Percy thought that his heart would stop. Her grey eyes contrasted greatly with her light golden hair, and a sharp frown of disapproval and annoyance marred her perfect, tanned features. "Can't you see I'm busy, shrimp? And close your mouth – you look like a goldfish."

Percy snapped his mouth shut at the authority in her voice, then snapped it open again to argue, "Hey! I'm not a shrimp!"

"That's what I hear everyone calling you, and you didn't seem to have a problem with it." She responded as she stood up, sheathing her dagger and throwing the dirty cloth over her shoulder. Before it hit the marble ground, it folded itself into an origami bird and flew away into the blood red sunset.

"I –" Percy found himself in loss for words. A furious blush from a mix of anger and embarrassment rose to his face.

She smirked. "You picked a wrong person to argue with. Are you always this stupid when it comes to knowing who's an enemy and who's not?"

He glared. "And you are?"

She was halfway to the steps before she responded, "Annabeth Chase, leader of the Athena Cabin. You won't be forgetting the name that easily when you meet me on the battlefield next time."

Long after she had gone and the sun had set, Percy could still be found in the arena, a stupid, crooked look on his face. It wasn't until the horn for curfew blew before he staggered back towards his cabin for the night.

Oh, he won't be forgetting her too soon, even if he wasn't on a battlefield.

-PJO-

His first sword lesson went horribly wrong. His body was bruised and scratched, his muscles hurt like no tomorrow, his pride had taken a powerful blow, and Annabeth stood with one foot on his chest, looking down at him and saying scornfully as if saying, _You really are weak. Not worth my time. Shrimp._

His heart clenched, and he looked to the side, not meeting those grey orbs above that taunted him to lose his temper, to make a fool of himself again, to break down and cry his heart out like a child. Percy had lost the match – he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of watching him loose his cool.

When she finally lifted her foot, she turned around and walked out of the arena without a second glance or word. He just lay there, trying to gather up some of the remaining shards of his shattered heart, trying to ease the lingering pain on his chest, trying to ignore the gazes and whispers around him, trying to imagine that, just for a second, there was some sort of pity or respect in those stormy eyes of the child of Athena.

It was harder than anything he had done before.

He let his grip on his weapon falter, the blade clattering to the marble floor.

-PJO-

Luke.

The sheer name of his opponent in this race to win Annabeth's heart made him grit his teeth in anger. He may be known for keeping his cool – but the child of Hermes had the reputation of making him lose it.

Ahead, Luke and Annabeth were talking over a map, making plans for Capture the Flag. Luke said something, Annabeth replied, and both of them started laughing. It was one of the only times Percy saw that Annabeth was truly happy. Jealousy constricted in his heart, and his fingers clenched down almost of its own accord on the worn grip of the jagged practice sword that was his first weapon and had been his only one ever since.

When Annabeth's attention was back on the map, Luke looked over his shoulder and smirked at Percy, as if sensing his hidden rage. Then, the blond leaned over to Annabeth's ear and whispered something. Annabeth turned all eighteen known shades of red and started stuttering something incoherent. The mere fact that _Luke _was the one who made her blush made the green-eyed teen's temper soar and flames start flickering in his irises.

Finally, the plan was set, and Annabeth and Luke shook hands over the map as agreement. Annabeth's thin digits stayed in Luke's vice-like grip for a second too long, and there was a little too much affection and joy in Luke's eyes for Percy to stand any more.

The son of Poseidon pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on and stormed out the door, shoulders tense and a frown on his face. His emerald eyes displayed the roaring inferno of emotions in his mind.

Outside, the cool night wind blasted in his face, but it was not enough to pacify the growing sense of jealousy and rage. That night, he vented out his stormy emotions on an innocent log, staying out way past curfew. It wasn't until the moon started to set and the harpies started to riot when he finally turned his back to his grotesque masterpiece and headed towards his cabin to cry until Apollo finally rose from his nightly slumber.

The next day, what remains of the log is nothing but chunks of wood. However, if one were to look carefully, they could see the story of hurt and heartbreak that had been carved onto the debris. Unlike regular wild slashing motions, the wounds inflicted on the deceased tree were neat and regular, lining up as neatly as British Red-Coats, every cut parallel to the next, each slice deliberant and carefully made.

Like the slices made by a razor on one's wrist. The blade and the wrist of a heart-broken teenager.

-PJO-

The Aphrodite girls were talking about Luke and Annabeth when he passed them. Of course they would. Luke had recently brought Annabeth out of camp for a date, and had somehow miraculously made it back, drunken and giggling like idiots. Of course, Chiron banned both of them from leaving camp any more, but it didn't matter for them – so as long as they were still able to see each other at camp.

Percy clamped both hands on the sword in his hands, imagining that the grip was Luke's neck. That creep had not only stole his crush in front of his nose; he had made a show out of it, disgraced him, and stole Annabeth's innocence and first kiss. And Annabeth had _smiled_,like it all made her happy.

The cold winter wind blew through his hair, reminding him to calm down. If Annabeth was happy, then there was nothing for him to be done. All he could do was wait and hope.

The blade in his hands grew cold.

-PJO-

It had been a shock for Annabeth as well as him when they found out Luke was a traitor. She had just found out that she was pregnant with Luke's child when the news was broken to her. She was running with a soaring spirit towards the Hermes Cabin to tell the news to Luke when a grim-looking Travis Stoll told her that Luke had left.

But by then, it was too late to undo the knots Luke had tied with Annabeth.

Luke's final message for Annabeth was found under his pillow. The letter had told her than he really, _really _did love her, and that he would always find a way to bring happiness to her once Kronos had taken over. He also stated that he was happy for their child. But everyone saw through the empty lies. Annabeth had been blinded by the illusionary love that coursed through her veins so much she didn't realize his shadowy actions – and that had proved to be her fatal mistake. She had realized that she had been taken advantage of too late, got involved in their relationship a little too deeply. But by then, the knots that were tying her down were too thick to be untied by her own.

So she lay, strength and will drained from dehydration and effort from sobbing, in Percy's arms in a tangle of blond hair and hurt and disbelief as the son of Poseidon tried his very best to calm her down from the horror of finding Luke a traitor. The son of a vermin – no offense, Hermes – had bent her to his will, broke her, and left Percy scrambling to clean up the mess. The creep had obviously been playing with them from the very beginning.

She continued to sniffle, and an occasional comment or sob would escape her lips. Her usually strong and smooth façade was torn apart, revealing the scared little girl she was inside.

As he looked at the daughter of Athena in his arms, seeming as vulnerable and fragile as the melting January icicles that still hung from the bare branches of trees, he vowed on the River Styx and his jagged blade, that he would never, _ever_ repeat what Luke did.

-PJO-

Over the weeks, he watched Annabeth go through the various states of depression and healing. There was sorrow, hopelessness, misery, depression, disbelief, despondency, denial, anger, hurt, regret, dejection, anguish, distress, desperate, sorrow, and then the cycle repeats. However, after watching the girl go through it the third time, he saw that the effects of shock were starting to wear off steadily, replaced by the usual symptoms of pregnancy.

When Valentines' day rolled by, he made sure to prepare a new polishing rag. Even though she had stopped appearing at the spars and training sessions, she still kept the same dagger she used to shred cheese and camp shirts, gleaming and bright. As he stepped through the door of Annabeth's room in the Big House, the bright smile on his face faltered.

Annabeth was throwing one of the worst fits she has ever had. On the bedside table, there was an open shoebox and a discarded, open envelope. The letter that must have been in the envelope was now being shredded by Annabeth's furious fingers. Tears ran down her cheeks along the well-worn paths that had been paved specifically for situations like this.

When Percy finally calmed her down enough for her to speak and not tear his head off his shoulders, the first two words that escaped her mouth was, "Luke's dead."

On the beside table, in the shoebox, was a blood-stained dagger, identical to the one Annabeth always used. However, the edge of _this_ blade was _completely smooth_.

-PJO-

Miraculously, she had managed to convince Chiron that an abortion was in order. The old centaur did not want her to go through it, but when Annabeth set her mind on something, she will not stop at anything. She wanted any trace of Luke out of her body so that she can forget about him and move on.

The news, when broken to the campers, caused a huge amount of gossip and rumors to spread quickly. Percy didn't care. His seaweed-clogged brain was too busy trying to register that he could finally be free from the frantic race he was running in to bother. Luke was dead. There was no one else. And Annabeth was moving on.

His heart beat sped up, pure ecstasy and excitement blossoming in his heart to the point where he wanted nothing else then breaking into a song to express his joy. His hands tightened on the grip of his blade, and for the first time, it wasn't from anger or jealousy.

-PJO-

For some time, Percy saw that Annabeth was happy.

When Annabeth was happy, he was too. Even the practice sword he has claimed as his own was starting to feel right in his hands. The grooves, those dips and rises that had once never fit his grip, had started to feel right in his hands.

All memories of Luke were put to a side. His dagger was melted down by the Hephaestus campers into a chunk of Celestial Bronze, coated with steel, then concrete, then painted red and thrown into the sea by a catapult. It seems like it wasn't only Percy who was mad at Luke for ditching and breaking Annabeth.

He and Annabeth talked often, argued, fought, insulted, teased, and taunted each other. Everyone called their relationship 'lover's quarrel', but they would both deny the fact that they liked each other. Percy knew he was lying, and it hurt. It also hurt to hear the words 'I have nothing to do with him' or something like that leave Annabeth's lips. Both he knew that both of them needed time, especially Annabeth to get over Luke.

But Percy can wait. He can wait 'til forever comes around.

Percy knew that the gods disliked his choice of a 'sort-of-friend-slash-girlfriend'. Athena especially. He assumed that Annabeth's mother was protective of her child after the first heart-breaking situation with Luke, or maybe it was just because she disliked his father.

Even Poseidon was unhappy, and practically every else except Aphrodite was discontented.

However, he would show them that he can, will and shall confess to Annabeth without tripping over his feet first. Soon. But not now. He still needs to gather up his courage.

The grip felt almost warm in his hands.

-PJO-

"You promise you'll come back." She muttered, eyes downwards.

He laughed at the sight of her red face. "Of course."

She stiffened when she noticed his expression, and the redness in her face died down. Immediately going to Command Mode, she ordered, "Then go. The assault's going to start soon."

Percy laughed again, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did. "Yeah. I know."

Annabeth watched him go, and even until the blade of his sword that hung from his hip disappeared around the corner, she still stared at the place where he had disappeared with nothing but regret weighing her heart down.

-PJO-

In the end – his desperation, his yearning for revenge, his wish to live to tell Annabeth that he loved her – was still not enough. It was nothing compared to the few millennia of hatred the Titan Lord had in stow.

Percy watched as Kronos drew his black blade out of his chest, the dull pain and his heartbeat pounding in his ears already starting to spread. The cold numbness and shock enveloped his form as flowers started dancing in front of his eyes.

He didn't want to die yet.

Not yet.

He had never felt so regretful in his life.

He wished Annabeth had never known him.

So cold, so numb, but even as his soul left his body, his fingers never loosened from his faithful sword's grip.

-PJO-

There was a reason why he died. That was one piece of knowledge that she never wanted to know.

Annabeth fisted her fingers around the blood-stained camp shirt – the last thing Percy was wearing before he received the fatal stab. Biting down on her lower lip hard enough to draw scarlet drops, her stormy eyes glazed over, and tears started to fall again.

As if sensing her sorrow, the grey clouds that had hung around New York for days finally let down their burden, letting their own tears fall down in thick sheets of rain. Annabeth didn't care. Couldn't care for anything else apart from the death of Percy.

They were _never _made for each other. Half-bloods weren't supposed to be together. It was the reason why Camp Half-blood didn't have any _semi_-godly children (a child between two half-bloods or between a half-blood and a mortal), and the other reason besides Kronos why there wasn't a single camper older than nineteen when he first arrived. _That _was why the gods didn't approve of their relationship.

She cried those tears of sorrow into his shirt, wishing he would open his eyes again – those green eyes, the color of the endless sea. Wishing that his hand would reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear again. That practice blade Percy always used – the practice blade that had been named Riptide, the sword that cut through its enemies like a blade would through the waves – was still clutched in his hand, monster slime and blood sticking to the metal like skin.

Percy had taught her fear – fear that she would lose him. Now that he was gone, there was no one to help her fear. She did not fear anything and everything. Looking at his pale, lifeless face, all she could feel was regret as her heart, so recently taped together, shattered once again into a million pieces, never to be put together again.

The last blade she ever held was Riptide, the dirtied practice sword newly stained with the blood gushing down her throat in a gruesome waterfall.

She had never felt so cold.

So numb.

So lifeless.

Just like the sword in her hands, the sword – once held by a pair of warm, callused hands of the son of Poseidon, now abandoned, left to rust into nothing in the rain. The sword he had been holding on their first and last meeting. The sword and its owner, both of which she had fought with in the arena.

The sword –

– with the jagged blade.


End file.
